A Crown Of War (Book 4) Read online

  “Yes,” he said with the Watcher’s voice.

  A pang of sadness tightened his throat as he stared after the rift.

  *

  Eadon left The Watcher in a barred room high in Felspire and opened another rift. He soared through it astride his dragon-hawk, Akrazza, and came out above the city of Del’Oradon. His mind-meld with the beast allowed him to control its every movement, and through the mind-meld he spewed forth fire into the city he had previously ruled. Thatch roofs went up like so much tinder, and people scrambled like ants from a burning twig. Through Akrazza, he roared, pulling strength from The Sword of Power Taken, Nodae. The dragon-hawk’s roar shattered windows and bled eardrums, and any too near to the sound died where they stood, the dragon-fear shattering their minds and quieting their hearts. Arrows flew from below, and were snapped as twigs underfoot as they collided with the energy shield that surrounded Akrazza and Eadon.

  He flew on toward the castle, leaving fire and death in his wake. In the courtyard of the castle, a gathering of elves and Uthen-Arden soldiers awaited him. The elves took no time in attacking, their spells shot forth through the air and exploded against the energy shield. Below, he quickly found Zerafin and his sister, Avriel. With a force of will, he connected with the energy of her form and pulled her through the air to him, as Akrazza swooped down and blanketed the courtyard in flames.

  In minutes it was over, and just as quickly as he had flown from the rift to the castle, he returned. Through the rift they went, and into Felspire they flew. He flung Avriel to the stone floor. He had drained her of her stored energy as they flew, and she was no more magical now than a human sheep herder.

  “Avriel, the one that got away,” he mused, as he slid from the saddle and down the sparkling silver scales of Akrazza.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Taken

  The alarm sounded in the courtyard and city beyond. Screams and calls of “dragon!” rang out, but were soon drowned out by the ear-piercing cry of the beast. From his vantage point behind the castle, Whill saw nothing. He unsheathed Adromida, flew high above the castle, and found the courtyard in flames. The city beyond had been devastated, and many buildings were on fire. Off in the distance, a rift had been torn in the sky, and a large dragon-hawk flew toward the rift and disappeared. The rift folded in on itself until nothing remained. Whill flew to the courtyard and found it in chaos. The entire area had been doused in dragonsbreath. The elves had shielded themselves and the Uthen-Arden soldiers from the worst of the flames. He spotted Zerafin amid the chaos and flew down to land near him.

  “What has happened?” Whill asked.

  Zerafin was distraught, and his face told Whill what his words did not.

  “Avriel,” Whill said in realization, and Zerafin nodded grimly.

  “Where is she?” Whill demanded.

  “Eadon, he has taken her,” Zerafin grit his teeth and stared to where the rift had been.

  “What do you mean, taken her? How could that happen?” he asked desperately.

  “He absorbed everything we threw at him and turned the spells back upon us,” said Zerafin.

  Whill was furious, and did nothing to hide it. He felt the old anger, the rage, and the fury of the Other well up inside him. But he did not lose control, and did not need the Other to bear the feelings of loss. He and the Other were one, which meant that Whill would not hide from such things any longer.

  Aklenar Master, Avolarra En’Kayen strode to stand next to Whill and laid a hand upon his shoulder. “I see not her fate,” she told him with a sympathetic smile.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Whill asked.

  “Not if you do not want it to. I meant that hers is not certain, for good or ill.”

  Whill turned from the elven masters with anger in his heart. They were some of the most powerful elven masters that Elladrindellia had to offer, and they had not been able to hinder Eadon in the least, let alone stop him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ravaged city and the dead soldiers, his soldiers. Beyond the castle, thick smoke billowed up into the pink sky. The sun was setting behind the castle, but Whill saw no beauty in the heavens that night.

  “I must tend to my people,” Whill said with a small bow to the gathered elves.

  He walked to the castle gates and beyond. The city had suffered incredible damage considering that a single dragon had made only one pass. The intensity and breadth of the dragonsbreath had been great; a wide swath had been burned through the center of the city. In some places, the liquid fire had melted the very brick.

  Captain Walker saw Whill and quickly came to stand before him.

  “Report!” Whill ordered.

  “Sire. The dragon destroyed over thirty buildings.”

  “How many dead?”

  “The current count is forty-three, sire, and hundreds injured, mostly burns.”

  “Forty-three,” Whill said to himself. His anger grew by the second. Where had Kellallea been? Had she been distracting him? Eadon attacked only moments after she left…were they working together? Whill felt sick to his stomach.

  “Where have the injured been gathered?” he asked.

  “At the Saw Horse, sire,” Captain Walker told him. When Whill showed no recognition, he added. “A tavern, that way,” he pointed behind him. “It wasn’t touched by the flames. The elves have offered their help, but the people are suspicious and afraid. They turn to the gods with prayer for help.”

  “Take me there,” said Whill.

  Captain Walker led Whill through the streets. Rubble and bodies littered the roads and walkways. Few buildings were still on fire, however; the elves had put out many, and were assisting with rescuing those trapped in the ruins. A cry caught Whill’s ear, and he told Walker to wait. The sound had come from a building to his right. It looked to have been a leather shop, for burnt saddles and a variety of leather clothing spilled out on the street. The tower of a larger building had come crashing down atop the shop, caving in the roof and busting the front wall. Broken glass and fused brick lay strewn about, and there was no clear way in.

  “Momma!” the muffled voice cried again.

  “Do you hear that?” he asked Walker.

  “Sounds like a child,” the captain replied and began manually moving chunks of fused stone aside.

  “Allow me,” Whill bade him with a hand to the chest, moving him away.

  Whill scoured the rubble for the child. With his mind sight he spotted a little girl deep within the rubble, trapped between two slabs resting at an angle against each other. Through his mind sight, Whill saw her clearly, and her blood.

  “When the stone lifts, bring her out,” Whill instructed Walker.

  “Sire?”

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Whill unsheathed Adromida, which lit the street as if it were daylight. Walker blocked the brilliant light with one arm and stepped aside. Whill reached out with his mind and set his will upon the stone and splintered wood. With his free hand, he reached out and carefully created an energy barrier between the girl and the rubble. Tapping into Adromida, he raised the debris. Walker stared, awestruck, and Whill had to say his name twice to get him moving. On the second call, Captain Walker snapped to, ducked under the rubble, and shuffled to the girl. He scooped her up quickly, brought her back, and laid her down in the street. Whill dropped the rubble at once and turned to see her.

  The little girl was bruised and broken. Her left cheek had a deep gash in it, so deep that the whites of her teeth showed. Both of her legs were broken and set at unnatural angles. Her left arm was broken at the forearm, and many other small wounds covered her small body. Tears burned hot in Whill’s eyes. No matter how much he saw of battle, he would never get used to this. He bent to his knees and stroked the child’s dirty forehead.

  “Momma? Momma! Momma!” the girl cried. Her eyes searched all about Whill, and he realized that she did not see him.

  “I am your king,” he
told her as he stroked her head, “And I have come to help.”

  Whill tapped into Adromida as he surveyed her wounds with his mind sight. He sent a surge of energy into her body, and she heaved up with a moan. He searched her mind and caused natural pain-killing chemicals to be released. Adromida’s power coursed through him, sharpening his senses. He drew more from the blade, enhancing his mental capacity as he set to the task of mapping her injuries and planning their healing. He saw every muscle, bone, and fiber clearly in his mind, he was ready. With a surge from Adromida he sent blue tendrils of healing energy winding from her head to her toes. The light moved around and throughout her body, lifting her from the dirty street and healing her many wounds. When Whill lowered her into his arms, all of her injuries were healed, and she was smiling up at him.

  “Melody!” a women cried and came running through the gathered crowd.

  “Momma!” the girl replied as Whill put her down.

  Mother and daughter came together in a desperate embrace. People fell to their knees before Whill, some in adoration, others begging him to help their trapped loved ones.

  “Lead me to them,” Whill said to a battered old man with a bandaged head. The man had begged Whill to help his family who were trapped in a burning house.

  Whill spent the night and most of the next day freeing the trapped and healing the injured. Word of his miracles spread throughout the city, and the people came in droves to witness the magic of their lost prince. In seeing Whill’s healing, the people became more comfortable around the elves and allowed the healers to help their kin. When those close to death had been pulled from the brink and cared for, Whill returned to the castle to confer with Zerafin. The elven masters had gathered once more in the war room when Whill arrived, and they seemed to be in the midst of a lively debate.

  “The time to strike Felspire is now! Cerushia has been destroyed,” said Gnenja Master, Thryn De’Gregeth.

  Master Myrramus shook his head and opened his arms wide to his brethren. “To attack is to contribute to the violence of the world. We must embrace peace.”

  Thryn moved his hand across his bald head. His frustration was apparent in his ice-blue eyes. “Your cowardice is shameful!” he finally erupted.

  “Silence!” Zerafin bellowed. “Infighting will get us nowhere.”

  Whill took his seat and accepted a glass of wine from Alrick.

  “Are you in contact with the elves of Elladrindellia?” he asked Zerafin, and sipped of his wine.

  “Yes, they move toward Felspire as we speak,” said Zerafin.

  “We debate an offensive and you have already set into action the attack?” asked Myrramus.

  “We debate nothing, your thoughts have been noted, and I have taken action,” said Zerafin. He pointed to the map, “Our forces are already on the move. They shall converge on this Felspire before Eadon’s deadline arrives. We are here to devise a plan of attack.”

  “This is unnecessary,” said Whill. “I must face Eadon alone.”

  “You are not alone in this,” said Zerafin.

  “I appreciate the gesture, good King, but what is the point? All due respect, but the lot of you could do nothing against him yesterday. What will you do against him at Felspire?”

  A few of the elves nodded, namely the Morenka.

  “If nothing else, we shall try. My sister, Princess of Elladrindellia, has been taken. I shall not sit idly by and wait to see the outcome of this battle. I have vowed to lead the elves against the dark one, and I shall.”

  “How can they make the journey in time?” Whill asked.

  “They are aware this may be the end. No use in holding back stored power, they will use whatever means necessary to travel there in time.”

  The doors swung wide and banged against the walls, gaining the attention of all. Through the door strode Lunara, Helzendar, and the Watcher.

  “Master Watcher,” said Myrramus, standing to bow.

  “Lunara?” asked Whill, looking past them to the doorway. “Where is Tarren?”

  “I am here,” said the Watcher to Whill’s confusion.

  “We were attacked by Eadon. He came for Tarren,” said Lunara.

  Whill’s heart skipped. Lunara put a hand so his shoulder.

  “The Watcher…somehow switched bodies with the boy. Eadon was fooled. He took Tarren's body, not knowing the deception,” she explained.

  “Impossible, the Watcher would never meddle in such…such dark magic,” Master Myrramus insisted.

  “The Watcher gave himself to save Tarren. I would not call such a sacrifice dark magic,” Lunara argued.

  “But, we left you in Cerushia,” said Whill.

  “Yes. When the attack came, the Watcher led us away to the safety of the ocean. We have traveled here by boat. He somehow knew you and our king would be here.”

  “What the old crazy elf did was kidnap me! Where in the hells be me pa?” Helzendar chimed in.

  “He may be in danger,” Zerafin said to Whill, but he barely registered the words.

  “Tarren?” he said, amazed, laying a hand upon the shoulder of the Watcher.

  “Heya, Whill,” the Watcher said, his inflections and mannerisms those of the boy.

  Whill laughed despite himself. “He was deceived!” Whill said to them all.

  He turned and paced around the table, his mind racing. “The Watcher has deceived Eadon, perhaps there is a way.”

  “There is always a way,” said Aklenar Master, Avolarra.

  “What ye be meanin’, elf? Me father be in danger ye say?” Helzendar pressed.

  “You will address him as King, or King Zerafin,” Lunara berated him. “Your father would be embarrassed to hear such disrespect uttered by his son.”

  Helzendar lowered his head in shame. “What danger be me father in? King Zerafin.”

  Whill turned to his friend as well. In his excitement at the news of the Watcher’s deception, he had forgotten the warning.

  “Eadon opened a rift above the city and laid waste to many buildings. He also took Avriel,” said Zerafin. “He meant to take Tarren as well. Stands to reason that Eadon would try to capture Roakore as well. Surely, he knows of your friendship. This is a game to him, and he is collecting his pieces. He will use them as hostages to convince you to give him the power of Adromida,” he said to Whill.

  Whill pondered this, and his anger grew. Not because of the lengths Eadon would go, but because, once again, his friends were in danger due to him, and that, even now, with the incredible power of Adromida, he was unable to help them.

  “I must discover the fate of Roakore,” Whill told them all.

  “I would go with you,” said Lunara, coming to him.

  Whill saw clearly the love in her eyes, but thought of nothing but Avriel and Roakore. He put a hand to her soft cheek and offered her a thankful smile.

  “I need you to watch over Tarren and Helzendar,” he said.

  “If you be ridin’ the path to me mountain, I be going with ye. We be at war, me place be in Ro’Sar,” Helzendar insisted.

  “You will remain, and that is the last of it,” Whill retorted.

  “Take care of them both,” Whill said to Lunara. He moved to the door and turned to the elves. “I go to learn of the fate of Roakore. I shall not return. If you go with your king to Felspire, I will see you on the battlefield.”

  Whill left them and made his way out of the castle with Alrick and Captain Walker in tow.

  “Whill!” Zerafin yelled from the stairs. Whill waited for him at the door to the Great Room.

  “Alrick, see to it the repairs to the city continue, we’ve still a long winter ahead of us, no matter the outcome of the days ahead,” said Whill with a firm hand upon the older man’s shoulder.

  “Yes, sire,” said Alrick with a bow. His proud eyes shimmered and lingered on his king. “Thank you.”

  “Captain Walker, close off the city, but do not turn away any refugees. Prepare the city for attack. Be ready for anything.”
>
  “Yes, sire,” Captain Walker bowed.

  The two took their leave as Zerafin approached. Together, he and Whill walked out to the courtyard.

  “Do not attempt anything before we arrive at Felspire,” said Zerafin.

  “I shall wait for you, and, together, we will face the dark lord,” Whill told his friend.

  “Together,” Zerafin repeated, his eyes showing a hint of skepticism. He extended his hand in the common human greeting. Whill took it and was pulled into a one-armed hug.

  “Go with the blessing of the Elves, Whillhelm Warcrown.”

  Without another word, Whill summoned the power within Adromida and shot up into the sky heading north.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  The Fate of a Friend

  Whill flew in the direction of the Ro’Sar Mountains so fast a clap of thunder sounded. His egg-shaped energy shield formed at the tip of his sword and set the air aflame. The energy of Adromida coursed through him as he flew through the sky like an arrow.

  He soon overtook the marching dwarves, and his heart leapt. He slowed and quickly descended to land before them. The dwarf Philo approached cautiously, but on seeing Whill, he relaxed his grip on his weapon.

  “Aye, Whill,” he said in greeting.

  “Where is Roakore?” Whill asked, scouring the dwarves as they approached.

  “He and Holdagozz left us yesterday. His crazy silverhawk returned, and me king wasted no time in flying to Ro’Sar.”

  Whill gave a disappointed sigh and looked again to the north. “Have you seen anything strange in the north?” he asked Philo.

  “Ain’t seen nothing strange,” said Philo, turning to gauge the response of the dwarves. When no one spoke up, he looked to Whill. “What this be about?”

  “Eadon attacked Del’Oradon and took Princess Avriel. He also appeared through a rift out to sea and attempted to kidnap Tarren,” Whill told him and turned to leave.

  “Where ye headed?”

  “Ro’Sar, I believe Eadon went after Roakore as well.”

  “Then take us with you, we be needinʼ to be in Ro’Sar yesterday!” Philo insisted.